


le calme après une tempête

by ocean_of_lilacs



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Oh also fluff, Pining, Sharing a Bed, actually there’s no bed but still, but you don’t know, soft snafu, very OOC sorry, yeah lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 09:50:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18029429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocean_of_lilacs/pseuds/ocean_of_lilacs
Summary: hamm dies, snafu has a nightmare and eugene isn’t quite sure what to do.





	le calme après une tempête

**Author's Note:**

> i was craving some soft fluff about these two and i’ve finally had inspiration to write, so here we go

~  
quel a été le plus beau jour de votre vie?  
c’était une niut.  
\- Brigitte Bardot  
~

 

They sit in silence, after Hamm dies.

Snafu stays awake, at first, perhaps out of some type of attempt at penance; but when the rain softens slightly, his eyes flutter closed, sending raindrops streaking down his sharp cheekbones. Eugene watches him, his fingers itching to wipe the rain from Snafu’s cheeks, but instead he wipes the mud off the Bible clasped in his hands.

It’s practically ruined, the leather cover caked with dried mud, the words faded from too long in the sun. His father would tut at him, if he saw the state of the book, he would shake his head and bring out his blue bottle of leather cleanser.  
“You’ve got to look after the Lord’s stories, Eugene,” he would say. “They hold a lot of meaning, you know that, son.” 

Eugene would nod, but he feels as if the stories have lost their meanings since he was a child, especially now; after Hamm’s death.

His prayers for a miracle, for the war to end, weren’t answered. And the fear of sinning that used to posses him has faded almost entirely. He’s looser with his beliefs than before, but the religion hasn’t left him entirely.

Especially when he’s watching Snafu, desperate to pull him close.  
His stomach aches with the urge to hold him, brush his hands through rain dampened curls, press his chapped lips to full, glossy red ones.

But Sunday Church visits still ring in the back of his mind, hours of sitting on hard wooden pews with his Mother and his Father, Edward poking him hard in the ribs and pointing to him and then some elderly woman whenever the Priest mentioned marriage. The sins of homosexuality are still engraved into his memory, making nausea swirl in his stomach when he looks at Snafu.

The rain is still coming down heavily, even if it is a little more forgiving then before. Eugene, Sledge and Burgie are behind the muddied barricades, lying in the drenched soil. The rain hasn’t stopped Burgie and Snafu from sleeping though, so Eugene has nothing to distract him from his thoughts and the sick feeling climbing up his stomach. He doesn’t like the night, when there’s no killing or painful work to pull him out of his mind. 

Burgie looks peaceful in his sleep, like he’s dreaming about his girl back home. His face is softened, like the war hasn’t carved it into a mask of sorrow. It’s comforting, to still have Burgie, to have someone as stable and calm as him throughout it all. He’s sort of like the moon, always there - despite changes in weather.

Snafu’s curled up on his side, his body disappearing into his poncho. He’s been quiet, since Hamm’s death, and since their fight. 

Eugene twists around from where he’s sitting, and lets his legs stretch out in the watery mud. They feel numb, and he wonders briefly if he has frostbite. He knows, logically, that he doesn’t; it’s not even that cold, but the thought still surfaces in his mind. He rests one leg over the other, and sighs through his nose, turning his head, to watch Snafu. The greyish light makes everything look like a pencil sketch, the outline of Snafu’s slight body blurred and uneven. 

He looks small, drowning in the folds of his poncho, with a tuft of damp curls protruding out of one end, muddied socks and skinny ankles poking out the other. Eugene feels something twist in his chest. He looks far too soft for the war, for the bullets and shouts echoing in the distance.

It’s a far cry from his usual demeanour, gone are the sharp smirks and biting comments. All that edgy sarcasm and overall strangeness pared back into a gentle quietness, everything subdued and softened. Eugene doesn’t think he looks less when he’s asleep, but it’s different, almost strikingly so.

Eugene sighs loudly, but the noise sounds wrong in the quiet of the foxhole. He stills, feeling oddly panicked. There’s nothing to fear, not right now, but Eugene almost can’t breath against the beating of his heart. 

He lies back against the muddy ground, breathing out slowly. It’s dark, but not dark enough for him to feel blind. The sun is streaking across the grey sky now, little more than a slither of orange beneath the rain, but it makes things look slightly golden. That’s one relief, at least.

Snafu stirs next to him, and he stills. The sound of rustling material is comforting, and he glances sideways at Snafu’s prone form.

Snafu has turned onto his back, and his legs are kicking slightly, confined by the poncho. Eugene looks up to his face, and his eyes are screwed shut. His mouth is open, mouthing something that only he can hear.

Eugene startles at the sight, his heart clenching. There’s always been an awful gnarl in his chest when it comes to Snafu, but now it’s grown thorns.

He twists himself up onto his knees, his hands hovering in the air above Snafu. He itches to hold him close, to wake him up and knot his fingers into those dark curls. Instead, he whispers into the quiet air, sounding far too loud once again.

“Snafu, Snaf, hey,” His voice is hoarse, and he almost gags on the instinct to clear his throat. He swallows instead, and looks down. Snafu doesn’t seem to hear, a low whimper escaping his throat, whilst his legs and arms thrash in the poncho.

Eugene swallows again, blinking rapidly. He lets his hands hover above Snafu, feeling completely and utterly useless.

If it were him having a nightmare, Snafu would shake his shoulders until he woke up, and then rub his back lightly as he choked back sobs. It’s one of the rare times that Snafu’s quiet and gentle outside of sleep, perhaps because he’s scared of breaking Eugene right after something that ruins him already.

But there’s no way of knowing how Snafu would respond to that. Eugene can imagine him bolting away, hissing almost like a cornered cat. 

On the other side of Snafu, Burgie’s poncho and coat rustle, and Eugene’s hands shake in panic. He doesn’t want Burgie to be the one to wake Snafu, not at all. It’s stupid and selfish, but Eugene clings to the idea, and digs his fingers lightly into Snafu’s shoulders.

There’s a fine shimmer of sweat on his bronzed skin, and it gathers at the crease between his eyebrows when he scrunches his eyes. Eugene shakes him, gently, urging to place his thumb in between his eyebrows and smooth over the crease, but doesn’t.

He clings onto Snafu’s shoulders instead, shaking him gently, whispering his name repeatedly. Snafu stills suddenly, and his eyelids fly open as he sits up.

His eyelashes are wet, and his iris are a shimmering liquid blue, like the sea after a storm. The colour isn’t, however, anything like the Pacific, more like the Mediterranean. Eugene’s never seen the Mediterranean, but he imagines it to be lighter; blue and green and turquoise all mixed into one.

Snafu’s breathing is shuddery, and his thin chest heaves with the effort to get a breath in. Eugene settles back on his heels, one hand still clasped on Snafu’s shoulder.

“You alright?” 

He whispers it, and Snafu looks up at him, eyelashes clumped together and dense with tears. 

“Fuck.” His voice is thick, and he lets his head fall back down onto the wet soil. It lands with a thud, and Eugene winces.

He stays quiet, and so does Eugene. The smell of the earth after rain is thick in the air, along with that of blood and smoke. Snafu breathing is heavy, and his eyes are closed, and Eugene wonders for a second if he’s asleep. But, he props himself up on one elbow and glances down at Eugene’s hand still on his shoulder.

Eugene feels himself flush, and takes his hand away like Snafu is burning. He glances the opposite way, out of the foxhole, and notices dimly that it’s not raining anymore.

Snafu sits up further, and Eugene can feel him staring intently up at him.

“You can keep there, if you want,”  
It takes Eugene a moment to work out what he’s talking about, and his eyebrows raise.

Snafu sounds uncharacteristically shy, and when Eugene turns around, he’s facing downwards, eyes on his hands. His hair has fallen down into his face, curling upwards on his forehead.

He looks soft, dark skin golden in the dim orange light, all his sharp edges seemingly gentle under the pools of ragged material. Eugene feels a swell in his chest, almost like a flower in bloom, and exhales shakily.

Snafu looks up at him through his long, wet lashes; eyes still glistening like a liquid constellation. Eugene feels his breathing stutter slightly, and he reaches out his arm, draping over Snafu’s back and looping it around his chest.

He pulls Snafu backwards, until he’s lying with his back to Eugene’s chest. He’s tense in Eugene’s grasp, and Eugene suddenly feels very very stupid. What is he doing? This is Snafu, a marine, a trained killer, and here he is trying to fucking hug him like a dog or something. He’s never going to let this go.

Eugene feels a hot flush spread across his cheeks, and he swallows loudly, his throat barbed wire. He hurriedly detangles his arms from Snafu’s body, but Snafu clasps onto his arm with both hands.

“Wait,” his voice is ragged, and Eugene feels his chest contract almost painful at the wrecked tone. Eugene continues to unravel his arms from around Snafu’s slight chest, feeling almost sick.

“Sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing, shit, I don’t-“ 

“Hey, I said you could, didn' I?” Snafu’s voice is less hoarse, and there’s a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He turns his head, so it’s resting on Eugene’s chest, and looks up at him with drooping eyelids. 

Eugene feels his mouth pull into a surprised ‘o’ shape, and Snafu smiles.

“I’m sorry, about before, that fight,” his voice is thick with that Louisiana accent, and something else that Eugene can’t decipher. “ I was a real dickhead, Sledgehamma’,”

Eugene laughs. “Snafu, apologizing? What is happening to the world?” Snafu nudges him with his shoulder in faux anger, lips forming into what looks suspiciously like a pout.

“Well, don’t you come back complainin’ when this’s the last time I’m ever nice to you,” He turns away, pressing his face into Eugene’s shoulder almost sweetly.

Eugene laughs quietly, and tightens his arms around Snafu. 

“Aww, stop it, you couldn’t handle being mean to me forever- I’m the only person you like here, Snaf,”

Snafu chuckles into his shoulder.

“That’s kinda true - wait no,” He points vaguely in Burgie’s direction. “That ones alright.” He puts his hand across his legs and shuffles down further in Eugene’s lap.

Eugene looks down in surprise, shocked by the sudden display of sweetness. Snafu’s still, like the quiet before a storm, except after, in this case. And with a very uncharacteristic, gentle storm. 

Eugene laughs, but there’s no response. His heart suddenly flutters with worry, and he looks down at the tuft of curls leaning on his chest with mild panic. Snafu’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly agape, and his face peaceful. He looks younger, asleep, especially with his hand curled sweetly into Eugene’s shirt, his fingers small and dainty.

The sound of quiet, even breathing drifts around the foxhole, and Eugene watches the steady rise and fall of Snafu’s chest against his. His head is still burrowed into Eugene’s shoulder, his eyes closed and hair falling over his forehead. Dark bruises paint his under eyes, patterning them like wildflowers on a meadow. Eugene pulls him closer and leans his head back against the barricade behind them, closing his eyes, his chest warm with something that wasn’t there before. 

There’s a shuffling somewhere in front of them, and Eugene’s eyes fly open. 

Burgie’s propped up on his elbows, watching them with heavily lidded eyes. Eugene sits up straighter, and Snafu makes a quiet sleepy sound, curling further into his chest. Burgie presses his finger to his lips and smiles, shaking his head softly.

“You’re a good kid, Sledge,” He whispers, and settles back down into the mud, closing his eyes. “Shelton is too, but I doubt that even he believes it.” He opens his eyes, and waves his hand in the air slightly. “Now, go to fucking sleep.”

Eugene breathes out heavily, and rests his head back. His heart is racing, but he smiles slightly. He doesn’t quite know what to say to Burgie, so he stays quiet.

He feels himself slipping into some sort of sleep, later, and brings his hands to brush through Snafu’s hair. The weight of his bible is lighter in his pocket than it’s ever been before, and he sighs through his nose, a smile tugging at his lips. Maybe the nights aren’t so bad, not now.

**Author's Note:**

> right, so this is bad and very ooc but still//also i quite literally made up the end of this episode, where they’re sleeping isn’t accurate or anything so sorry//the quote at the start may seem random but I thought it fitted kind of well?? idek//i was also thinking doing a french translation of this to attempt to improve my french writing skills before my gcse, but if no ones interested im not going to so please comment if u are xx  
> this is also un-betad (?) so yeah


End file.
